A Soldier's Welcome
by AmazingMoose
Summary: FIRST FIC/ AU / Oneshot Told in Puckerman POV. Noah Pucker man comes back from war to find life isn't always what you'd expect. Trigger? I guess it mentions suicide and other types of death. Listen I have no idea what I'm doing.


**Ah okay first fanfic. Here we go!**

Gazing down from the ten-storey building, I try to convince myself the drop isn't too far down. It's the perfect opportunity. I can do this.

I zip up my jacket. It's the jacket my father gifted me all those years ago. Long before I was even shipped from the United States to fight in Afghanistan.

I'm rarely ever afraid. Training for the army seemed to eradicate any feelings of terror straight out of my system. Even when some of my best mates from base, whom I shared laughs with on those peaceful nights, were slumping over dead at my feet, it was extremely difficult to consider my own safety.

The highlight of the entire deployment was obviously coming home. The excitement of finally being allowed to see my daughter again filled me with so much joy, that I couldn't wait to have her in my arms once again.

As I drove through the secluded streets of my home town, I looked around to see if much had changed since I left. Nothing had. Everywhere I looked I could still see large signs built too high, advertising each shop or fast food restaurant. I was certainly in the USA.

Still clad in my foliage-green combat uniform, I approached my final destination: Beth's school.

With a brisk pace, I marched through the school grounds. My feet weren't the only things racing. My heart was beating so hard, pumping more adrenaline through my veins than it ever had, that it felt as though it was about to jump out of my chest. I was finally going to see her again.

I searched, almost frantically, for the door marked 107. I looked through that tiny window above the doorhandle, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. There she was.

She was dancing to some song with her friends, probably from a nursery rhyme. I couldn't even begin to fathom how something so beautiful was made by someone like me. She was delicate. She was a flower.

I opened the door and she turned. She ran to me, arms wide open, tears streaming down her beautiful face. "Daddy!" She screamed in elation, "Daddy, you're home!"

I was no better. I was like a rubber face clown, crying so hard. Her teacher had her phone out, recording us. Probably some cheap shot at Internet fame, but I couldn't care less. I was just so ecstatic to finally be here. Finally be home.

When we left the school, I realised just how tired I really was. Night approached, as did Beth's bedtime. She had this book called, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar". I absolutely detested that book, but not my Beth. No, she wanted that tale to be recited to her every single night. She loved that stupid book.

She asked me if I would read it to her and I hesitated. I was exhausted. I tucked her in, "No sweetie, Daddy's tired. I promise to read it tomorrow."

I should've read it. Because that night, I was stupid enough to fall asleep beside the still-lit fire. That same night, I held Beth's cold body in my hands as I tried to save her from the smothering smoke. But it was too late. There would be no tomorrow for Beth.

So here I stand, looking over the edge of this ten story building. I can almost hear voices in my head, screaming at me. Reminding me of all the pain I caused. I could do it, I could just jump. All my regrets would just vanish with me.

I reach into my jacket pockets. I take out a book. It could obviously be in better condition, what with it being covered in dirt and having crumpled pages. I'm honestly amazed how it survived the flames. I look at the book, across it are the words, "The Very Hungry Caterpillar".

I reach my foot out. This is it. My mind, still screaming at me. Trying to suppress all my doubts. "DO IT!"

Except, I can't. "Daddy, will your read to me?" Memories of Beth flash in front of my eyes. Images of her dancing to her favourite songs. Beth, my beautiful flower. "Come on Dad, you promised."

It hurts so much. More than that bullet wound in my left shoulder. More than the time I had to stand over the corpses strewn across that disgusting battlefield.

I glance down at the book in my hand. I hate that stupid book, but it's a treasure of memories. Memories worth loving for. With a firm grip on the pages in my right hand, I step down from ledge. Not today. Defeated, I collapse down on the ground, muttering to myself, "I want to read to you Beth. I really do."

 **Best writing you're gonna get off me at 12am. I don't even know what I'm doing here. Please leave a review?**


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